If Wishes Were Horses
by seghen
Summary: It comes down to likelihood: could she cause a difference outside the walls of comfort, or did she need the shelter of old acquaintance to get her through the night? Dark HHr


**I don't know why I wrote this, but I did. **

She blinked; a dense and nonsensical thing to do at a time like this. Her breath was hitched in her throat, wand at the ready as she awaited judgment. The flood of thought that she had anticipated, the one that always came before a big decision, never appeared. She was alone in her mind, no flurry of indecision to cloud her judgment, nothing that could distract her from the task that lay ahead. She knew what she had to do and wished for once in her life that she was not so damned reasonable.

"Stay with me," it had all sounded so easy and possible when he said it, his words gliding gently, ice skating out of his mouth and lingering in the air like dead charcoal. She wished that she could, longed for moral ambiguity that everyone else seemed to obtain over time, as the war carried on and her childhood fantasies faded to black. She wanted to believe that blurring the line between good and evil would result in something good, in something better. Perhaps it would, perhaps if she could just forget for one second the niggling fact that she loved the world over him but could not decide if she cared more about the cause or his life.

Her arm was unbending, her forearm shaking as her extended wand wobbled and his eyes lit up with amusement, bitter and sardonic amusement that stung her more than anything else. "How did this happen? How did you let this happen?" Her mouth was no more than a line; the garbled sentences spewing forward could barely make it past her teeth. She was all accusatory when it fit her mood, when it was necessary, but she had known better for a long time. She had surrendered to his arms long after she discovered that there was something dark and twisted writhing inside his soul, something had taken over the good and righteous Harry Potter and replaced it with an arrogant creature, one which she loved nonetheless.

"Our bed is still warm," he stated simply, no trace of malice in his voice nor appearance. He lay there, naked and sheathed only in linens as she stood in flimsy lingerie, a sudden awakening stirring inside of her. "You've made your bed, now you have to lay in it." He wouldn't kill her; she knew that much to be true. It had nothing to do with love, if he loved her; it had everything to do with possession, claiming what was his and not surrendering it. And by god she had been willing, ready to brave the evils of the world in order to be with her true love. But life was anything but a fairy tale.

"He's dead, you're not! And you still…you think I don't know, but I do, I do, I see it all. Every team you send out, every missing person, every objector to you crumbles to their knees before they can even make a dent in society. I don't understand why it can't be like you said it would, why everyone can't just live on their own! No one wants to be in a cage, gilded or no." She wished that she was simply a bird in this dwelling, tapestries holding her in and promises of a renewed tomorrow keeping her from fulfilling what she knew was right. She was not a prisoner, perhaps if she objected she would become one but at the current moment she was nothing more than a girl in love with a boy bent on destruction.

"You don't need to understand, because even if I tried, you never will. Nothing I say is ever going to change that, Hermione. Things don't always turn out the way you anticipate, sometimes you must make due." Oh how she hated this, how she longed for the conviction to flick her wand and be done with it. She was more than willing to surrender her life for the cause she had dedicated it to, but it was not her own well being that concerned her. He may be twisted, he may be contrived and he was definitely less than half the man she had fallen in love with, but he was still Harry. Her Harry, always and forever.

"Now put that down and come back to bed, before you cause a scene." He commanded without tenderness, no, that was reserved for when she was behaving, obeying his commands and listening to what he said. "Did you decide on one final shag before you did me in, baby?" He mocked when she refused to comply. "I knew that you saw what was happening, what I promised was impossible! Even with Him gone everything was mucked up, the whole of the wizard world in tatters and I couldn't do one thing about it. This is for you and people like you, the future. Now come back to bed." There was a smile there, a smile that she did not like, one filled with arousal. This entire spectacle was exciting him; her adamant refusal to obey rendered him ready for round two.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she hated her own weakness, her love for a man who was long since gone and her undying allegiance to him. "I just want all of this to stop; I have to make it stop." He is careful to avoid looking at the wand for even the briefest of moments, instead focusing his eyes on hers.

"Stay with me, Hermione, it's the only way." She could not so much as even imagine sixteen year old Harry Potter making such an admission with a straight face. Of course there was another way, there was always another way. Neither of them were backed into a corner, this was the easy way, the other would involve arduous struggle and a battle against evil, opposed to working with the opposite force. "You're not going to kill me." It was nearly a question, something to help him regain control. Harry extended his arm and rested it on hers, clenching only when she moved to recoil.

"No, I'm not." She did not consciously decide to lower her weapon and she was certain that there was no sort of witchcraft being performed on her. Harry prided himself in never employing such methods in order to keep her in check, but it was magic enough the way he stared her down. He tugged on her forearm, pulling her forward and on top of him as the wand clattered uselessly to the floor, the wood procuring a dulled thud as it struck the carpeting.

He pressed his lips to hers forcibly, using more strength than she could ever recall. She wished that she was stronger, but she wasn't. Harry Potter was not the only one who had changed, not the only one whose persona visibly altered from the time of Hogwarts. It was all about survival, living in times of hardship. Maybe one day she could be the know-it-all Granger everyone knew and loved, perhaps she would be able to recall the mission that hundreds gave their lives to. But it came down to likelihood: could she cause a difference outside the walls of comfort, or did she need the shelter of old acquaintance to get her through the night? Despite what newspapers may say, Hermione Granger is no hero.

**I don't really know where I was going and how I ended up here, but believe me when I say that my intentions were not to make this piece.**


End file.
